To Feel Warmth
by theartfulpuppet
Summary: AU/possibility (because who knows what'll happen in the MCU) mini-series of vignettes with Bucky recovering post-cryo in Wakanda. Just a wee something (or nothing) I thought up. Update: one more, featuring some BrooklynBros banter.
1. To Feel Warmth

This awakening from the ice had been unlike any other he has known: dimmed, warm lighting instead of the harsh, blinding strobes he's always woken up to; a team had worked with gentle hands over his thawing form and with reassuring tones for his confused and numbed mind.

But the chill lingers and he is always cold. The air-conditioning in his quarters is always set on low, and a stack of extra blankets is ever at the ready. A cheerful young woman brings him hot tea and bestows a bright smile in return to his whispered _thank-you_.

He still can't process the fact that all of this is for him. An ache grows more keen as he is every day newly surprised and reminded that these people are doing all these things with concern for him and his well-being. No little comfort, no small gesture ( _"You are worth it, you do deserve this."_ Steve's words are a creed he struggles to allow himself to believe), goes un-noticed, and his heart tugs as he sees the pile of soft pajamas that has been laid out for him by another one of the staff members of the hospital's royal wing: one of the many who have silently provided things he'd have wanted but wouldn't have dared to ask for, or else things he couldn't have guessed he needed.

He towels himself dry (he has adapted well to doing things with one arm, and can perform simple functions again like dressing and showering with fair ease) and hurries to inspect the pile.

There are socks, and he smiles with gratitude. These people couldn't be more thoughtful.

They can. The shirt is warm, and the left sleeve has been neatly altered for the absence of the missing limb. He allows himself to cry.


	2. Comfort in Discomfort

He tosses and turns; sleep teases his entire form, yet it does not come.

It's the bed. It's too... something. Too spacious? Every time he switches position he ends up in a cold spot and must wait for it to warm up: he can't seem to land in the same spot twice. Too soft? The only beds he has known for the past few years have been either damp alleyways, rough concrete or wood floors, or else a lumpy old mattress that had a tendency to poke him in certain areas. He vaguely recalls hearing Steve muttering something earlier about marshmallows.

Whatever it is, it doesn't seem right, and it is coupled with a feeling of being smothered: a weight that presses not so much physically as it does mentally, on his soul, as if he doesn't deserve the luxury of a bed, much less one like this. It is a feeling that relents and returns at regular intervals, and the fight to suppress it for good has been pretty much hopeless. Whatever it is, it makes all this not seem right. Not for him. Not now.

He sits up and blearily squints at the shapes around the darkened room: a bedside table, a lamp, some sort of tropical plant native to this country, a sliver of light coming from behind the curtain drawn over the wide window on one side of the room.

He hauls a couple of blankets and a pillow from his bed and heads for the window. He pulls back the curtain a bit and drops his load, arranging a makeshift nest out of the blankets. Settling back against the pillow, he gazes out over the jungle and up into the brilliant night sky.

The hardness of the floor, albeit thickly carpeted, soothes him with familiarity. Warmth collects and envelopes him in the cocoon, and he dozes off, blissfully unaware of the near-heart attack he is to cause when Steve drops by in the morning per usual and initially fails to find him in the bed before spying an unruly heap of blankets by the picture window.


	3. Basking

He felt the warm morning sun pouring through the large window and onto the back of his head. He could see it through his closed lids. It was still strange, waking up not shivering. He breathed in the light, clean scent of the bedding and curled tighter into its soft embrace. He heard... scratching? A pencil flitting against paper. Fragments of a memory collected and took shape...

 _He lay pretending to still be asleep, although he was pretty sure he'd heard the clock chime quarter past eleven. Sun streamed onto the bed and he foggily wondered to himself whether or not an extra, non-paid government-instituted Saturday just might be a splendid idea. Yeah. Definitely worth it. Saturdays were wonderful._

 _Skrch skrch skrch._

 _He lazily pried one eye open to take in the sight of his friend perched on a chair, balancing a pad of paper half his size over one knee and taking a visual measurement with his pencil._

 _"Steve... whu- Steve, are you DRAWING ME?"_

 _"Last time I looked, your modeling contract hadn't expired yet."_

 _"Steve, for crying- I'm not done SLEEPING yet."_

 _"TSK, Buck! Now've you've rolled over and I haven't finished with this yet!"_

 _"Finish this." A surprisingly well-aimed pillow knocked the pencil out of Steve's hand._

 _"Art ruiner."_

 _"Sleep depriver." Geez, how early do artists need to get up on a Saturday?_

 _As if Steve read his mind, "You know, if you're gonna spend the whole day in bed, the least you could do is make yourself useful."_

 _"Heavenly DAYS, McGee," was Bucky's exasperated, muttered reply._

He lazily pried one eye open...

 _Skrch skrch skrch._

Steve's eyes rose from the small pad that he held on his lap, and appeared a bit startled to meet the gaze of Bucky's lone one.

"Hey. Oh I'm sorry, do you mind if I draw you? I was just bored- I can stop."

Captain America is bored? Oh right, _former_ Captain America, war criminal exiled in a secret African nation. Well, then. Still, bored? Psht.

"No, 's fine. Glad you still do it." A pause. "Been awhile."

"You remember when I used to make you sit for me?"

"Sometimes you didn't even bother to make me." Bucky gestured _observe_ with his one hand. He managed a laugh. "It's fine, it's fine."

Steve nodded, "You were a handy model. I mean, you sure fidgeted a heck of a lot, but hey, you were free."

"Hey now. I happen to remember I did an exceptionally fine job. But today I'll take my pay in breakfast."

"Not pancakes again."

Bucky grinned, flipped his blanket over his head, and rolled over.

"No fair, Buck. I haven't finished with this yet."

* * *

 _Author's note: Bucky's "Heavenly days" remark is in imitation of that which famously belonged to Molly of the "Fibber McGee and Molly", the comedy duo whose radio program ran from the 30s to the 50s. (Yes, the very one that Bucky mentions in the "Captain America: Super Soldier" video game.)_ _I've always loved listening to tapes and CDs of comedy shows from that era (for the record I'm a 90s baby), and this one is one of my favorites. Really fun to listen to; they just don't do comedy like it anymore. Give a listen on Youtube or your favorite audio streaming application!_


End file.
